


the show must go on (there is no script)

by DivineProjectZero



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, I swear it's not crack, It's actually not crack, JohnlockChallenges Exchange, M/M, Valentine's exchange, circus AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineProjectZero/pseuds/DivineProjectZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s job interview was going smashingly well until a clown walked in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the show must go on (there is no script)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [finnemoreshusband](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnemoreshusband/gifts).



> Written for mycabinispressurised (finnemoreshusband) in the JohnlockChallenges Valentine's Exchange. 
> 
> The prompt was Circus AU. I truly enjoyed writing this. I do hope it's suitable gift. Also, I apologize for any mistakes or loopholes in the story. This has not been betaed and all mistakes are mine.

John’s job interview was going smashingly well until a clown walked in.

The office door swung open without warning, and a person draped in alarmingly colorful clothing stalked inside. John couldn’t help but stare. The clown was dressed in rather garish orange-blue-green, and was staggeringly tall. There were red highlights in the dark hair, and his face was painted to highlight the sharp angles of his bone structure. His lips were painted black. Overall, the clown was quite intimidating, especially when he was towering over John, who was still seated on the couch and unsure as to how to react. He shifted away a little to make some space between them.

The clown’s facial features, exaggerated with makeup, contorted the slightest bit before smoothing out into a mockery of a serious face. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The man sitting opposite of John scowled a bit. “I haven’t even hired him yet. Can’t you terrorize him later?”

The clown didn’t even turn to address John’s potential boss as he said, “The state of your shirt cuffs and the fact that you left your pack of cigarettes on the desk rather than inside your pockets indicate that you intend to hire him. Of course, it’s rare to have a vet surgeon with such high qualifications, and it would be a waste to let him walk away. Your only hang-up is the limp, since we have large animals and you’re not sure of hiring someone who might have a disability to work with them.” The clown didn’t move any closer to John, but the intensifying focus on him was palpable. “Obviously been working abroad with a variety of animals. Larger felines are a specialty. Yet you’ve also worked with birds, large ones, ones that have talons. Presumably falcons. Not to mention the various other wildlife creatures you could see in a wildlife conservation area in the Middle East. So which is it, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The entire experience was so surreal that John just answered, “Afghanistan.”

The clown hummed. Then cocked his head to the side a bit.

John’s potential boss sighed.

Abruptly, the clown straightened. “His limp is psychosomatic. It won’t interfere with the work.”

He then turned and left, surprise announcement trailing in his wake.

“Sorry about him. You’ll be seeing more of that one, so might as well get used to him now.” Greg Lestrade was John’s interviewer, and it appeared that the clown had gotten this right too. The man offered John a contract and handshake, and John was no longer unemployed.

This was how John became the new veterinarian at the Baker Circus.

*

John Watson never expected to end up in a circus.

Then again, he’s always been a bit defiant when it comes to expectations about his life.

Like the time he moved in with Harry’s girlfriend because only Clara already lived near London’s Royal Veterinary College, and he’d endured Harry pouting about it and endless ribbing from his mates who didn’t understand that Clara was never going to be interested in dicks.

Or like the time he ended up signing on for a three-year stint in Afghanistan’s new wildlife conservation project, against his parents’ objections, and dove headfirst into treating patients that could rip into his throat at any moment.

Or like the time one of his assistants made a mistake with the anesthetics, and John had saved her from being mauled but had been grievously injured to the point where he was forced back to London and unemployment.

Nobody had expected anything John Watson’s life to be like this. He’d been expected to live an average but good life, perhaps as a doctor or maybe as a military man, since his interest in healing others was obvious since his childhood and his father had served for Queen and country. John defied expectations, and nobody was certain how he did it.

John himself hadn’t expected his life to be like this. But as life went, he learned to go with the flow.

Living with Clara, who was two years ahead of John in courses and a helpful tutor, served to facilitate both John’s studies and his dating life. Clara was forever bringing back girls to introduce to John, and John was forever repressing smug smiles when his other mates complained about lacking girlfriends.

Three years in Afghanistan gradually became seven. John became friends with all the people working there. He also became friends with many of his patients. He treated foxes, goats, bears, and cheetahs. He got the occasional scratch and bite, but he wouldn’t have traded his job for anything.

And now: he’d returned to London, moved into a dismal looking flat at the edge of Camden, and had been contemplating what to do with his life now that he couldn’t perform sensitive operations when Mike Stamford had bumped into him. Which was when Mike had told him that he knew a place that was hiring vet surgeons and would not mind John’s inability to perform actual surgery.

“Heard that all the former vet surgeons ran off. No idea why.” Mike had chuckled a bit. “Thought about giving it a go myself, but I’ve always preferred less threatening patients. I don’t expect anybody would want to work with circus animals for long.”

Things had gone from there, and John ended up walking into the Baker Circus for his first day of work. It wasn’t anything anybody would have expected from him, but, well.

John Watson was good at exceeding expectations in the most unexpected ways.

*

At first sight, the circus seemed fairly small. John had been to a circus only twice before, once as a toddler and again as a teenager with a girlfriend. Both times, the interior had been much bigger than the Baker Circus’s.

The ring itself was moderately large, and the audience seats surrounded the ring didn’t seem crowded either. It wasn’t the circus itself that was small; it was designed with an air of snugness, a feeling of intimacy. Whoever had designed the place had done a commendable job.

“Hullo,” a small voice called out. John turned to see a woman with a ponytail smiling at him. “Are you the new vet?”

“Yes, that would be me.” John went to shake her hand. “John Watson.”

“Molly Hooper. I’m the chief animal trainer here. The cats will love to see you.”

“The cats?”

“Oh!” Molly flushed. “I call them that, but they’re bigger. You know. Than house cats. But they’re very tame. Quite safe, and we treat them well. And it’s nice to have them interact with other people more. ”

John grinned. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

*

The smell of wild animals hit John as soon as he walked in. It wasn’t as strong as the scent he’d been living with in Afghanistan, but it was close enough that John had to swallow a pang of nostalgia.

A tiger growled and bared its teeth.

“Toby!” Molly chided as she approached the tiger’s cage. “Be nice. This is your new doctor. He’s going to be our friend.”

John walked over to the tiger’s cage as well. “Hello, Toby. I’m John.”

Molly was right. The animals did seem cared for here. Toby’s fur was well groomed, and his sleek figure reeked of the well fed. His teeth, from what John could tell at the moment, seemed clean and healthy. The cage was substantially large. Not something he’d actually expected in a circus. Nothing could compare to the open plains of the wild, but for a wild animal in captivity, Toby seemed quite well off.

There were a few other animals here as well. A monkey was regarding John with curious eyes from the corner, and there was an eagle sitting on a pole set up in a netted area. A large Doberman, chained by the collar to a wall, rested outside of another cage.

“You train all of them?” John asked as a squatted near the Doberman. It perked its ears up and sniffed his knee.

“I oversee their training, but I usually stick to the cats. Bask, the one you’re looking at right now, is Henry’s baby. Bask is very smart and quite tame now. He used to be vicious. He was abused, you see.”

“Dog fighting ring?” John hazarded as he examined the dog’s cut ears and the scars on its legs. It made his heart ache.

“We rescued him. Well, Sherlock and Henry did.” Molly knelt down and scratched behind Bask’s ears. “They brought him here and I helped Henry train him. We weren’t sure if it was a good idea, having an abused animal perform, but Bask really warmed up to people. So we have Bask do a few tricks and then let the audience meet him. It's quite sweet.”

The Doberman nipped John’s knuckles lightly, a playful gesture, and John smiled. “Nice to meet you, Bask.”

A movement from inside the cage John was squatting next to caught his eye. He looked up to see a lion watching him.

“Oh,” John breathed.

If Toby’s fur was well groomed, this lion’s fur was perfect. His golden fur was glossy, like it had been brushed within an inch of its life, and his mane was thick and rich. The lion was definitely one of the largest ones John had ever dealt with. The feline’s tail twitched, and John felt a thrill shoot down his spine as the lion yawned, putting white, sharp teeth on full display.

John felt rather than saw Bask’s head turn towards the door moments before it was thrown open and a familiar array of orange-green-blue walked in.

“Molly, have you seen my riding crop? I have an experiment that I—“ The clown stopped midsentence and raised an eyebrow at John. “Ah. Introducing the doctor, I see.”

“John Watson.” John stood up. “Did you just say riding crop?”

The clown’s eyes went down and up, clearly reading John’s more rigid posture and crossed arms and seeing the faint disapproval that was being held at bay. John tried not to twitch at the scrutiny. Apparently being sized up by clowns was going to be his life now.

“You’re angry. No. Almost angry. But why? Oh. Obvious.” The clown rolled his eyes. “Relax, doctor. I don't use my riding crop on animals. Even Sally knows better than that.” The clown huffed and turned to see the lion making its way to the end of the cage closest to him. “I take it that you’ve met Redbeard.”

“Redbeard?” John echoed.

“Must you repeat everything I say? Yes, Redbeard. He’s one of our best performers.” The clown smiled for the first time and reached through the bars of the cage.

“Oi, wait!” John stood up and started towards the clown.

Miraculously, the lion purred and head-butted the clown’s hand, clearly demanding to be petted. John felt his jaw drop.

The clown knelt and stroked Redbird’s mane, talking in a low, soothing voice as he did so. It wasn’t the first time John had seen a large animal be friendly with another person; hell, he used to be the person that would go pet the tigers in his spare time between driving out to check on animals and operating on injured ones. Still, watching another person, someone who wasn’t another vet or qualified personnel trained to deal with large animals, was still a shock.

The clown costume only added to the incredulity.

Molly cleared her throat. “Redbeard is our only lion, much like Toby’s our only tiger. He’s been raised here since he was a baby, so he likes people. Never hurt another person, you know? Well, um, I’m supposed to be the official trainer, but Redbeard is kind of Sherlock’s. So Sherlock does a lot of his training.”

The name rang a bell. “Sherlock. Wait, didn’t you say something about rescuing Bask?”

“Sherlock did.”

The clown snorted. “That dog fighting ring was doing such a poor job of covering their tracks. It was a miracle the Yard never stumbled upon them. However do the people of London feel safe, being in the hands of such bumbling cretins?”

John frowned. “How did you stumble upon a dog fighting ring?”

The clown withdrew his hand from the cage, looking intently at his pet lion. “I didn’t stumble. I deduced their whereabouts and intentionally paid them a visit. Henry followed me because his love for canines knows no bounds.”

“What, you guessed where they were?”

Verdigris eyes, outlined in blue, looked up sharply. “I never guess.”

Oh, riling up the grumpiest clown he’d ever met was fun. John smiled. “Really?”

The clown stood up and slowly—there was no other word for it— _prowled_ towards John. John felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. No wonder this mad clown got on with lions. He walked like one, smooth and lazy but with teeth bared. Clown outfit be damned, John had been surrounded by dangerous animals, was still in the same room with a few beasts that could easily rip his arm off, but in this moment he knew the most dangerous creature in here was the man approaching him.

“I knew you were a vet surgeon as soon as I walked into the office. Easy: we were looking for one. So what kind of vet surgeon walks into a circus for a job?”

The clown stopped in front of John. John felt his breath catch in his throat.

“You’re experienced with large animals. No vet with experience only in treating small pets would have been comfortable with this job prospect. Scars on your hands indicate experience with violent animals with large claws and teeth. Most likely large feline species. So you have experience with them. There are also marks on your left hand and wrist that indicate you’ve treated large birds, and by the size of the talons I’d guess falcon. So you work with a variety of animals. Going by the kinds of animals you seem to have treated and by the state of your tan, I’d say that you worked in a wild life conservation project in the Middle East.”

The clown paused, then restarted. “You moved away from me in Lestrade’s office, but you forgot to move your cane with you. Your limp doesn’t bother you much, and the handle of the cane was worn just enough to indicate that you’ve been using it only in the past couple months. Yet the bottom of your cane shows little use compared to the handle. So you take it with you regularly but don't use it while you’re standing. Psychosomatic limp. Se we have a vet from the Middle East who has a psychosomatic limp. You came purposefully for a job with large animals, so you didn’t leave voluntarily. You’ve just been injured in work, probably attacked, and you were sent back. England has only been sending vet surgeons to a limited amount of wild life conservation projects in the Middle East, and most of them will allow volunteers to stay even if they are not capable of surgery. Only two places will required you to return to England. Afghanistan and Iraq.”

John felt his mouth move before he could stop it. “That was amazing.”

Pause. Head tilt. Blink. “You think so?”

“It’s incredible.”

The clown regarded John for a while, then stuck his hand out. “Sherlock Holmes. Call me Sherlock.”

John shook his hand. “John. John Watson.”

Lips painted black curved upwards, and John felt that this might be one of his best friendships yet.

*

Then again, John’s life never went the way he expected it to go.

*

“Christ, this is a lot of people.”

John watched hoards of people milling about, buying snacks and taking pictures. It was pre-show time, and the circus grounds were packed, even though it was a Thursday night.

After meeting the circus animals, he’d met most of the performers and staff throughout the day. Henry Knight, Bask’s trainer and the youngest clown in residence, had taken Bask out to charm audience members before the show. He’d met Sally Donovan, the bird trainer, and Philip Anderson, another clown who doubled as a trumpeter.

Apparently many of the performers did double-duty. The Baker Circus was a small circle of performers with multiple talents. Greg, the ringmaster, was said to be a proficient juggler as well.

Soo Lin Yao, John’s current guide for the pre-show and the best trapeze artist in the circus, smiled and waved at a few teenaged boys who were gawking at her. “We usually sell out for every performance. Part of it is because we do have more limited seats than bigger places, but I like to think it’s because we have a lot of talent here.”

“I’m surprised, though. The Baker Circus is relatively young, isn’t it?”

“Well, Mrs. Hudson and her husband founded it about twenty years ago, right after she retired because of her hip injury. She was one of the best acrobats in her day. I was a fan!” Soo Lin waved over someone from afar. “Anyways, her husband started embezzling circus funds, was cruel to the animals, didn’t follow safety measures, yadda yadda. Nearly ruined the place. He was arrested for it, though, and Sherlock helped Mrs. Hudson with getting the circus back into shape.”

“Did he?” Grumpiness aside, Sherlock was starting to sound like some kind of superhero.

“Sally says he was the one who got Mr. Hudson arrested in the first place.”

Or maybe not. “Sally doesn’t seem to like Sherlock, though.”

“She doesn’t. Sherlock is a bit hard to get along with. He helped me out before, when I used to work at this other touring circus. I grew up there, with my brother, and it wasn’t a nice place. I ran away, and they tried to get me back, but Sherlock turned the tables on them and got them banned from the country.” Soo Lin shrugged. “I thanked him, but he didn’t care. Says it was an interesting distraction.”

The people that Soo Lin had waved over turned out to be a masked figure in a hood with a blonde woman in a red cocktail dress.

Soo Lin indicated the woman. “I don’t think you met Mary yet. John, this is Mary Morstan. She can do a lot of things, but her specialty is knife throwing. Mary, this is John Watson. He’s our new vet.”

“Ah, so you’re the new one that Sherlock hasn’t chased off yet.” Mary smiled and shook John’s hand. There was an amused twinkle in her eye. “I’m so glad you haven’t run off screaming.”

“I managed to survive being mauled by a cheetah. I think I can handle a clown.”

“I do wonder how you intend to handle me, John.” The deep voice came from the masked figure beside Mary, and John barely managed to repress a jump of surprise.

“Sherlock? You were a clown just ten minutes ago!”

“I do happen to perform multiple tasks.” Sherlock’s voice was laced with irritation, but John couldn’t tell what his facial expression looked like under the intricately decorated mask. He could only see a hint of pursed lips and a hint of blue-green eyes. “One of them being a fortune-teller for the last portion of the pre-show.”

“Half the audience come just for that,” Mary added.

“None of them understand that it’s not fortune-telling. It’s observing and deducing. Half the things I tell them are obvious. Like that couple over there, the man is cheating on the woman. You can tell by the state of his watch and his obsession with checking his phone. The group of friends buying popcorn right now. The girl in the green shirt is a lesbian but in the closet. The boy next to her is his beard, but he’s attracted to the girl in the leather jacket. The other two friends don’t want to be here but have been dragged here by the other three. They have an exam tomorrow, and if they stay here they’ll definitely fail.”

“Please don’t tell me you just go and tell them that.” John tried to imagine that happening. He foresaw a lot of blood.

“It happened before,” Soo Lin said. “We try to minimize the damage.”

“Oh god.”

Sherlock turned his head a little to the left. Something apparently caught his attention, because the next moment he swept away without a word.

“You know, I thought circuses had fortune-tellers staying in a stall or something and waiting for people to come ask for fortunes.” John watched Sherlock zero in towards a very unsuspecting family. “Not have fortune-tellers come bring the truth and bashing over their heads with it.”

Mary laughed. It was a nice sound. “We’re not a typical circus, though. Sherlock is a bit of a one-kind-wonder.”

“He really is.” John watched Sherlock accost the family.

“Ooh dear, I hope I don’t need to go restrain anybody,” Mary commented.

John didn’t take his eyes off of Sherlock. The family didn’t seem too terrified. Yet. “That’s your job? Keeping him in check while he’s fortune-telling?”

“That’s my lot in life. Making sure nobody kills Sherlock Holmes.”

“I wonder what you did to deserve that.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. John turned his head to see Soo Lin and Mary glance at each other. Soo Lin shrugged. Mary smiled, a little upward tilt in the corner of her mouth, and looked John square in the eye.

“I almost killed him.” She looked back at Sherlock. “Oh, looks like I have to run.”

John watched Mary make her way to Sherlock, who had separated the family’s oldest son and was apparently intimidating him.

“What?” John directed his question at Soo Lin, who opened her mouth and then shut it at the sound of chimes. People started to pour in to the seating areas.

“You can ask questions later, John.” Soo Lin pushed him gently towards the front. “For now, go enjoy the show.”

*

John had been granted a front row seat for the tonight’s show, and it certainly was an incredible experience.

Greg was a charismatic ringmaster, John had to give him that. He spoke with authority, mixed with bouts and flashes of humor, and he was indeed a talented juggler. Some of the female audience members swooned.

There was a sort of intimacy with these smaller seating areas and rings. Seeing things from so close made every performance feel more astonishing.

Anderson, Henry, and Sherlock flitted in and out between bigger performances. They seemed to have a set dynamic, with Anderson being the sillier and more comical one, Henry as the more apologetic and sympathetic one, and Sherlock as the grouchy and angry one. Bask made an appearance with Henry right after the Chinese yo-yo act—which was led by Soo Lin, John noticed—and Anderson often played his trumpet with the band at the back, once playing a stunning solo that incited applause from the audience.

There was a wide array of acts, more than John had expected from the limited number of performers they had, and he had spent the entire intermission simply wanting the show to resume. Particularly memorable performances were the mesmerizing knife-throwing show from Mary and Soo Lin charming the audience from her trapeze. It was gripping, how easily they played with danger to entertain the audience.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have our favorite tamer of beasts,” Lestrade called out, and the audience cheered.

Molly looked less shy and more confident in the center of the ring, leading Toby and Redbeard through tricks and leaps. She didn’t have a whip, which made the act seem much more dangerous, though John knew that protective measures were in place and that the animals could be restrained immediately if anything were to happen. He knew from firsthand experience that even seemingly tamed animals could lash out unexpectedly. Nobody could actually tame a wild creature one hundred percent.

The act was nearing its end when John heard the strains of a violin.

At first, he thought he was mistaken, but then he saw Sherlock, still a clown, walking into the ring as he played a violin. The band wasn’t playing, and John could hear every note that Sherlock’s fingers created.

The audience was utterly silent as Molly and Toby withdrew from the ring, while Sherlock and Redbeard circled each other.

Nobody breathed, for fear that one wrong move would cause predator to pounce upon prey.

Then, as the violin sang a high, shrill note, Sherlock and Redbeard both sprung into action. Sherlock danced, moving in circles and away from Redbeard, as Redbeard pounced and prowled, chasing Sherlock around the ring. The audience was gasping, shrieking, and John could barely hear the violin—which was being played in erratic notes now—over his pounding heartbeat. He was watching Sherlock, just Sherlock, laughing and drawing his bow over string while dancing out of Redbeard’s reach.

This wasn’t a predator after its prey.

This was a pair of predators, playing with each other and enjoying the tension. Redbeard could have easily caught Sherlock, but Redbeard was playing along, dancing to Sherlock’s rhythm. It was something John had never seen before. He’d seen trainers playfully wrestle with larger animals before, but he’d never seen something that tasted like danger, something precariously skirting the line between play and hunt.

Sherlock abruptly finished his song, drawing the last note sharp like the crack of a whip. He bowed carelessly to the audience Redbeard next to him, and the two of them walked out of the ring.

The entire audience stood and applauded.

*

“That was terrific.” John was still a little blown away by the show. He tried to blink away the amazement and to focus on checking Bask’s ears. “Fantastic.”

“Do you know you’re saying that out loud?” Sherlock’s voice came from behind him.

John flushed and made sure Bask was fine before he straightened up and turned. “I like talking to animals,” he began defensively, before his entire brain derailed at the man petting Redbeard through the cage bars.

Sherlock wasn’t wearing the clown attire anymore. Rather, he was in a sinfully tailored suit, a coat folded over one arm, and his face was devoid of any makeup. His lips seemed softer in their original color, while his cheekbones were still sharp as ever. Unlike the mildly baggy clown costume, the suit showed off Sherlock’s legs and arse.

John realized he was staring a little too intently at that particular part of Sherlock and focused on the plush lips. Er, cheekbones. Face.

Fuck.

“I’m not saying speaking to animals is a negative thing. Rather, I wanted to know if you were aware of how liberal you are with your compliments.” Sherlock flicked his eyes up once at John, smirked, and looked back at Redbeard.

“I think those compliments are very deserved.” John wished he could pretend to examine Bask’s ears some more. He would have something to do with his hands, at least. “ Especially you. You help train lions, you deduce people, and you play the violin. And apparently you’ve saved a lot of people and animals along the way. Do you realize how incredible you are?”

Before John could feel the rush of mortification at his own gushing praise, he remembered something. Something that could maybe distract Sherlock from how John was so, so fucked.

“Speaking of saving lives, though. Mary said something about almost killing you. What did she mean by that?”

Sherlock gave Redbeard a final pat before giving John his full attention. “Long story short, she shot me. Not because she wanted to kill me, but circumstances dictated it. She wasn’t happy about it.” He shrugged, as if he didn’t mind being almost murdered by a colleague. “It’s because of her ex-husband. They’re divorced now, and I got her a job here.”

Christ. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Mary is fine.” Sherlock genuinely seemed alright with working with his almost-murderess. “She apologized.”

John tried to reconcile the Mary he had laughed with and the Mary he was hearing about. It didn’t really compute. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“John,” Sherlock said in exasperation. “Did you see her throwing knives today? Did you see me play-hunting with a full-grown lion? You enjoyed watching it. You like the thrill of the chase, to the point where you left your cane at the audience seats.” John startled and clenched his fists momentarily, realizing the absence of the cane. “You, you were critically injured by a wild animal and you came back for more because you like danger. Is this really an issue for you?”

There was one moment, just one moment where John felt like he was thrown for a loop, and then the ground under him settled again. Having it said to his face, that he liked danger, loved it, loved going against expectations and taking the alternative route, it made it much more…

Better.

“No.” John made eye contact with Sherlock. Kept his eyes there. “It's not an issue.”

Sherlock smiled.

“Billy Wiggins picked up your cane while he was cleaning up. You can pick it up from him.”

John was utterly doomed, and he couldn't care less. “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

“Thought so.” Sherlock looked smug. “By the way, I deduced the whereabouts of an exotic bird smuggling ring. Want to come?”

Most people would have expected John to say no. To call the police. To convince Sherlock it was a bad idea.

“Could be dangerous,” Sherlock added with calculated nonchalance.

John was used to defying expectations.

*

On the other hand: falling for a madman was so far beyond expectations that John had no clue what to do about it.

*

“You know,” John said with deliberate casualness as a knife blade pressed down infinitesimally into his throat, “I wasn’t really expecting our first date to turn out like this.”

Sherlock snorted, hands held up in a gesture of surrender as the smarmy bastard holding John hostage checked for an escape route out of the warehouse. The rest of the smuggling ring—six men, all knocked out for the time being—had been taken down in a nicely coordinated fashion after Sherlock had devised a plan, but the seventh member had recognized Sherlock too quickly.

“You, you again,” the man snarled, one hand tight around John’s arm, “you were one of Nico’s. I know you. I sold you the good stuff back then.”

Even with John held at knifepoint, Sherlock looked bored. He rolled his eyes. “That was what, almost ten years ago?”

“Really, Sherlock?” John tried not to roll his eyes straight back. “It’s our first date and we’re visiting your ex?”

“Is that really the issue right now?” Sherlock shot back.

“Damn right it is. I’m not surprised about the drugs, I mean, okay. I am, a bit, but you're sober now, that’s what counts, and you befriended someone who almost killed you, you play with lions, you go save girls from evil men and bring them back to your circus. You are so weird.” John kept talking, because there was a knife at his throat and he could die so easily, so very easily, and it was almost like being back. Having the danger living with you, the adrenaline of knowing that you can never let your guard down. “You, you’re ridiculous. You look like a Greek statue but you dress like a clown and you go insult people when you’re supposed to make people laugh, and you smile at your pet lion all the time but you barely smile at people. You’re one of those people who like animals more than humans, aren’t you? You’re a genius, but you come here with just me as backup and you work in a circus and you’re an idiot, you really are a terrific, astounding idiot.”

John felt the grip on his arm slacken, bit by bit, and near the end of his tirade he felt the blade tip away the tiniest bit.

He struck behind with an elbow and knocked away the hand holding the blade in one movement. He spun backwards, landing one jab and then twisting the thug’s arm neatly so that the ex-dealer landed on the ground face-first with John pinning him with a knee to his back. John kept the other man’s arms pinned behind him as he called out to Sherlock, “Please tell me the police are coming, because I don’t want to have to sit on this guy’s back all night.”

Sherlock walked up to him and nudged the thug. There was a tiny whimper.

“Oh, I texted them a while ago. They’ll be here soon.”

John looked up to see Sherlock grinning down at him. John grinned back.

*

John checked the time and groaned. “Three in the morning. Getting back to my flat is going to be hell.”

“They did take us a long time for questioning,” Sherlock sighed.

“You were the one who suggested going after a show. How are you not tired?” John rolled his shoulders back and winced. Okay, so he was used to working with strong animals, but it’d been a while since he’d done any restraining.

“Transport,” Sherlock replied cryptically. “If it doesn’t make a difference to you, you can sleep at mine. I live on the circus grounds.”

“You do?” John yawned. “All the time?”

“I do have my own flat, but I rarely return there. Only when we have breaks between show seasons.” Sherlock magically hailed a taxi and crawled in.

“Okay, then if you don’t mind I’ll crash at yours. Closer.” John yawned again.

By the time they arrived on the circus grounds, John was ready to crash. It had been a hell of a day, and it was just his first day of work.

God, it really was just the first day. How was he going to survive this?

The very idea of it made John grin sleepily.

“John,” Sherlock said, and the hesitance in his tone was enough for John to shake the drowsiness off and focus. Sherlock was leaning against the wall inside his trailer, and John was toeing off his shoes next to the sofa. Sherlock pushed off from the wall and walked over to John. He stopped at an arm’s distance. “You said it was a date.”

"I was joking."

"I know. You were joking then. But." Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "What you said afterwards, after you found out about the drugs."

John tried to recall what he had said. Then he wished he hadn’t. “Oh god, Sherlock, I didn’t mean to say all that.”

He really hadn’t. He hadn’t meant to nearly wax poetic about Sherlock. At least he hadn’t started blabbering about how glad he had met Sherlock and that he finally felt like everything was okay, everything was maybe even better than before.

It was just the first day.

“You didn't mean to say it,” Sherlock says, slow and thoughtful, “but did you mean it?”

They’d known each other for only about a day. There was no reason for John to be so deeply, deeply screwed.

“Yes.” John smiled wryly. “You are the greatest idiot I ever met.”

There was no reason for that to sound so much like a confession. And yet.

“It’s true,” Sherlock said, abrupt and harsh. “I was an addict. Still am, if you believe the notion that addicts never truly stop being addicts. The boy I talked to today, the one who came with his parents and two younger siblings, I could tell. By his fingers, the hems of his shirt, the scuffs on his sneakers. I bring people to the circus but I never leave, because this is where I am _me_. This, this is me, and you can’t change me.”

The tone in which Sherlock said _me_ was too close to the way Sally said freak, and it was something John never wanted to hear from Sherlock ever again. It sounded too much like it hurt.

“Sherlock,” John said. “I think you’re brilliant the way you are.”

Sherlock looked like he didn’t believe it. “You barely know anything about me.”

“I’d be happy to know more.”

Sherlock looked like he wanted to believe it. “You won’t like it.”

John decided right then and there. “Go ahead and try tell my fortune, genius. Let me tell you, I’m not that easy to predict.”

“No,” Sherlock said, half in wonder. “You’re not.”

“What did you expect? For me to walk out the door and not come back?”

“Maybe.”

“Then I’m staying right here.” John squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “What else did you expect?”

This, this was a dare. And if Sherlock caught on, if he accepted this game, played it with John, then John did not plan to back out, ever. This was his offer: playing a game on equal grounds, Sherlock baiting John, John chasing Sherlock. It could be glorious.

Sherlock’s eyes gleamed and John’s heart skipped a beat.

“I expected you to deny what you said earlier.”

John grinned and took a half-step closer. “Nope. You’re still an idiot.”

There was too much affection in the insult. Sherlock clearly heard it, and those lovely lips curved into a smile.

“I expected you to not kiss me.”

John reached up just as Sherlock leaned down, and as they brushed mouths, John asked against Sherlock’s lips: “Anything else?”

Sherlock slid his mouth across John’s jaw, breath hot against John’s ear.

“I don’t expect you to take me to bed.”

John groaned.

“Too bad.” He nipped Sherlock’s earlobe and was gratified by a baritone growl. “Looks like I’m going to defy all your expectations today.”

**Author's Note:**

> None of the writing in my fic is meant to accurately present the way in which circuses work and how vet surgeons work abroad in conservation projects. 
> 
> Also, Britain is planning to ban the use of wild animals in circuses in 2015. 
> 
> I am considering a sequel for this.


End file.
